Nine Names For Trouble
by Earial13
Summary: A compilation of tales concerning the (mis)adventures of the Nazgûl (who perhaps are not as competent as we were led to believe) and their witchified Captain. Such escapades, much chaos.
1. To Bait A Captain

_Okay so, awhile ago I came up with this idea for a humorous Nazgûl story. (Doesn't that sound so original? *insert snark*) I've numbered the wraiths in Black Speech by way of naming them, (except for Khamûl and the Witch King) and they're listed below for reference. Anywho, here it is. _

_Gakh-Three_

_Zag-Four_

_Kraak-Five_

_Rut-Six_

_Udu-Seven_

_Ski-Eight_

_Krith-Nine_

* * *

"Fifteen." Udu, Nazgûl number seven, called out, slapping a few dirty coins on the table around which sat seven of his fellow Ringwraith brothers.

"Fifteen minutes?" He'd have driven you into Rhûn by then." Khamûl, second-in-command, scoffed as he in turn shoved some money towards the ever-growing pile in the center. "I say ten."

'He' was the captain of the Nazgûl, the Witch King of Angmar, known as the Chief by his minions, or Witchy when they were feeling particularly irreverent.

A long favored activity of the wraiths when irrepressible bored was one they called "Captain-Baiting", more accurately summarized as "seeing-how-long-it-takes-the-Chief-to-blow-his-top". Bets were taking as to the number of minutes estimated for the Chief to erupt, the lowest bidder tasked with destroying, burning, and maiming his way through their leader's possessions. If the bidder's guesstimated time was correct, the jackpot was his, providing he could avoid being impaled with the Captain's spear. The Witch King's wrath more often flowed as ice, burning and freezing, but when extremely aggravated, fire, Mordor, and all of hell broke loose. Needless to say, eight conniving Nazgûl with nothing to do but play with danger and his temper had small work to add the figurative "last straw".

"How is ten minutes reasonable or even likely?" Ski, number eight, argued. "What if he's inspecting troops or something and doesn't return to his chambers right away?"

"It's not called gambling for nothing, knucklehead." His lieutenant growled with a dark glare at his subordinate.

"Seven." Kraak intervened confidently, sliding a generous amount of gold in front of him. "I can trash that room like nobody's business."

"Drenching everything with water doesn't exactly raise his ire to the boiling point, more like the freezing point." Nazgûl six, Rut, commented as he eyed the prize hungrily.

"Will you bid lower?" Kraak challenged, pushing his rickety wooden chair back with a smirk.

"I will." Fourth-in-command, Zag, spoke up for the first time, his normally talkative manner subdued in concentrated thought. "I say _five minutes_, from the time I get back until the Boss comes out. Anyone else?" He asked as silence fell upon the group, due to the fact that Zag had never won a bid before, much less gamble on such a low number.

"Bid's yours." Khamûl acquiesced with a disapproving shake of his hooded head as Zag stood up, a devilish grin crossing his face.

"That's settled then, I'll see you fellows shortly."

He disappeared, the remaining Nazgûl falling to discussing and speculating what planned course of action Zag might have in mind as they waited for his return.

"What could possibly drive the Boss into such a rage for him to set chase in just five minutes?" Gakh wondered, taking a large swig from his mug of ale. (Minas Ithil's finest!)

"Zag isn't always the sharpest, but he still has some decent ideas occasionally." Ski countered as he munched on shriveled finger he'd found on the floor.

"Oh, really?" Kraak queried with an ironical smile. "Like the time he suggested we wear hot pink robes by way of frightening the masses more than black ever could?"

"There is the disadvantage that everyone assumes you're Goth with black clothing." Udu pointed out as reasonably as one of Sauron's evil minions could.

"Wait, aren't we Goth?" Rut asked worriedly, secretly dismayed to learn his purchase of black hair spray had been in vain.

"Someone's having an identity crisis." Khamûl remarked to a passing bat. "No, we only dress entirely in black."

"Isn't that the same-?"

"Zag's back!" Krith called out, breaking off the conversation as the indicated wraith ran up.

"Start the clock!" He called as triumphantly as if the Witch King was already after him and the pile of gold his.

"It's going." Gakh replied, flipping an ancient hourglass marked with a faded '5'.

"So, Oh-Devious-One, what'd you do to the room?" Krith asked, curiosity overriding his sarcasm, as Zag leisurely stretched his arms with a self-satisfied grin.

"Patience, imp. You'll find out in exactly…four minutes."

"I still say it's crazy." Khamûl snorted. "He'll probably spend three hours concocting some exquisite torture for you."

"And you as well." Zag retorted slyly.

"Explain yourself." His lieutenant commanded. "Torture me? Me, his loyal supporter and most ardent slanderer behind his lordship's gracious back?"

"He's got 'traitor' down to a 'T'." Ski mumbled to Udu.

"That's because it starts with one."

"What I mean," Zag started slowly and deliberately, savoring each word as he would a troll shish-ka-bob. "Is that our dear, _dear_, captain will now, upon viewing his chambers, assume that each and every one of you took an important part in this little adventure. Therefore, prepare yourselves to run in…two minutes." He laughed as anger, concern, and fear bedecked the countenances of his companions.

"How can you be so danged sure?" Kraak demanded querulously, tightening the grip on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

"My abstinence from over-bidding has had a purpose, you know: to observe. All of you default to a certain method of destruction that pleases you best, but also distinctly marks you, which I'm sure has not escaped the vigilant Captain. I merely took advantage of this and used them all: dismembered orc limbs everywhere for Ski, rusty knives in the walls for Krith, a mini flood for Kraak…"

"You ingenious little worm!" Gakh exclaimed half in admiration and half in resentment as his sentiment was echoed in the various murmurs, hisses, and threats around him.

"So what was your 'distinguishing mark', Zag?" Udu queried in derision. "Or did you escape the storm of his impending wrath by portraying yourself as the innocent one?"

At that auspicious moment, the last grains of sand slipped through the hourglass as a great, clamorous racket was suddenly unleased that rang throughout the fortress. A high, screeching voice was steadily coming closer as it screamed profanities at its infuriating servants, heralding the Chief's imminent arrival as well as his discovery concerning the state of his bedchamber.

"I won, suckers!" Zag gloated with demonic delight as heavy footsteps approaching caused the Nazgûl to simultaneously leap from their chairs as if an elf-lord had been under them.

"Run!" Khamûl cried, pushing away the crow and humble pie he must needs eat later, as he lead the mass exodus out the back doorway. "Witchy" burst in as the last of his underlings fled, just in time to escape the well-aimed blade of their leader.

"What did you do to that room?" Udu repeated in amazement as they frantically ran from the fury of the Boss.

The woefully un-guilt-filled culprit shot a gleeful glance backward as he uttered a single word, one that would strike terror into an army of Uruk-hai, make Easterlings shudder in fear, and bring a troubled frown onto the face (if he currently possessed one) of the Dark Lord himself.

"Kitties!"

Right on cue, behind them was abruptly heard the scratching of tiny claws, yowls, mews, cries, and various other noises only an immense multitude of baby felines could produce.

"Curse you all, vermin!" The former King of Angmar wailed as he was halted in his chase, overrun by legions of furry cuteness so deadly to citizens of Mordor. "I'm allergic to adorableness!"

In spite of their own apprehension, all eight Nazgûl broke into extremely undignified snorts, evil chuckles, and plain uproarious laughter as they fled the crime scene, careful to avoid any wandering kittens.

* * *

_Thoughts? Like it, hate it, send it to Mt. Doom? I planned on making this a series of nine stories of the mishaps and such that befall the wraiths. So if you have any situations you'd like to see happen to our devious nine-some, let me know! Next chapter will probably be involving a large body of water... Reviews appreciated, as always. :)_

_**Note** I know the wraiths don't really eat, but, hey, gotta keep up with appearances and trends, right?_


	2. V is for Vacation

_I do not own Lord of the Rings or any of its characters. (obviously)_

* * *

"Man, this is the bomb." Khamûl sighed in contentment, luxuriously reclining on the black sand beaches of the Sea of Núrnen. "I really needed this vacation."

"We all did." Wraith number four agreed, generally known by his fellow companions as Zag. "The Captain needs it even more, though my beautiful shiny helm is off to anyone who can get _him_ to take a break. I doubt Witchy even knows the meaning of the word 'joke'."

"Talk about a workaholic." Khamûl replied critically, adjusting his sunglasses against the glare of the volcanoes in the backdrop. "The Boss doesn't have any concept of fun: remember the time he wouldn't let us torture a human because it'd impede the 'schedule'? By my ring! Torture and mutilation is one of the best parts of this job. He needs to let loose at least once, and I'll be there when he does." He finished with a huff.

"Always the 'schedule'," Number seven, Udu, interjected with a grumble. He straightened up as his voice was raised to a squeak in a mock impression of their leader. "'You scum all need to stop acting like orcs and accept the fact that you have an important reputation to uphold for the Master's plans.' And the time he stopped us from starting a heavy metal band and touring Mordor..."

"…Totally crushed my dreams of being famous." Zag finished wistfully, repeatedly poking a sleeping Rut in the ribs by way of relieving his disappointment.

"Speaking of fame," Gakh piped up as he sloshed through the shallows. "Kraak signed up for the surfing competition next month; should win it easy, look how he's killing those waves out there." He said as he indicated Nazgûl 5, skillfully navigating the sea, his bored, and thirty pounds of black fabric. (Quite the remarkable feat in that particular group)

"Must be his namesake; the Kraken was always a beast, literally and figuratively, in the water." Udu reflected, getting up to watch as Ski and Krith engaged in a vicious game of beach volleyball. (More properly known as send-the-spiky-metal-ball-flying-into-your-opponents-face game)

"By the Tower, Zag, stop it!" Rut finally exclaimed, unable to rest or attempt to tan (A life-long dream of his) with continual jabs in his non-existent stomach.

"I still say the Boss needs to lighten up." Khamûl griped, returning to the original subject as he sullenly opened a bag of fried rat tails.

"Aw, you lighten up, both of you." Gakh said, slapping his second-in-command on his invisible shoulder. "Let's go for a swim. Last one to the water is fell beast fodder!"

Few men, elves, or dwarves could picture the scene of seven Nazgûl, the most dreaded foe in Middle-Earth aside from their dark master, diving into the slick, oily waters of the Sea of Núrnen to engage in chicken fights, childish splashing, and the Dead Man's Float. (A very literally adaptation in their case)

"Thank the Master for vacations!" Udu cried as a he 'playfully' held the struggling Zag under the water in a friendly attempt to 'freshen him up'.

"Hey look, a jellyfish!" Krith called, pointing at Gakh.

"Where?!" He howled in terror, hurriedly shifting his feet away from the indicated spot, for if you were Gakh, anything involving jelly was a thing to be avoided at all costs.

"Gotcha! Gakh is as wimpy as captured human!" Krith taunted, earning a slap of wet cloth full in the face as he was tackled and taken down with a splash.

"What's that?" Khamûl questioned suddenly, pointing at a wave just beyond where Kraak was 'hanging ten'.

"What's what?" Ski asked as Zag came sputtering up, furious and seaweed covered.

"That." Khamûl clarified as a grey triangular shape broke the surface, speeding towards the unsuspecting surfer.

"That's not…. It couldn't be…" Rut whimpered, shrinking away as the fin, for such it was, headed towards Kraak with uncanny speed.

"SHAAARRKK!" Burst from the unseen lips of seven wraiths as the _Jaws_ theme played ominously in the background. (Not really, but you get the idea)

"Kraaaak!" Khamûl called desperately, waving his arms in an attempt to get the wraith's attention, still happily practicing his moves and unaware of the danger. "Get out of the water! The fish!"

"Delish? What's delicious? I thought you were against slang, Khamûl!" Kraak called back over the noise of the waves. Finally, the sight of all of his comrades gesticulating feverishly caused him to turn and view the silent stalker of the ocean approaching him. Kraak glanced down at the piece of plastic that offered but meager protection against those razor teeth and sighed. "I'm going to need a bigger bored." With that, he jumped screaming into the water, madly swimming to the group as the shark followed in close pursuit.

"Swim, Kraak!" Rut yelled as they waited in nervous anticipation, watching the deadly race pan out. "Swim for your li—Wait, we're not alive anyways, what would he swim for?" He questioned of Gakh.

"Hmmm, maybe the surfing competition?"

"Swim, Kraak! Swim for the surfing competition!"

If ever fear gave wings, (or fins) it did that day as Kraak dropped, exhausted and breathless, into his fellow Nazgûl's arms.

"Yeah, Kraak, I knew you'd make it, buddy!" Zag exclaimed, swooping the coughing wraith up in a bone-crushing bear hug. (That is, if they had bones)

"Nice strokes there, man!" Krith complimented admiringly.

"Um, guys, aren't we forgetting something?" Ski questioned as he pointed a finger at the giant shark, undeterred, speedily advancing towards where they stood in the water.

"Sweet mother of Shelob— "

"Screw the fish, let's get out of here!" Khamûl yelped as they ran, tripped, sloshed, and doggy-paddled their frantic way to shore with shrieks that would have burst a hobbit's eardrums.

"Where is it?"

"I don't want to die again!"

"Heeellpp!"

Apparently, none of the most invincible creatures in Middle-Earth had considered the improbability of any shark being able to do them harm. Alas, Steven Spielberg's damage could not be undone, and the beach was doomed to be rather deserted for a time.

The now forsaken beach stilled as a familiar black hood popped out of the water, a grey fin strapped to its head. The Captain stood in the water, chortling with fiendish jubilation at his minions' humiliation and fright. "Can't let loose, eh, Khamûl?" He guffawed as he strode to shore. "That'll show 'em to mess with my room again! After all, one can't enjoy a proper vacation without the 'certain necessities'." He said to himself as he stretched out on the coal-black sand to dry off. "Solitude, check. Nice weather, check."

The distant screams and squeals of the Nazgûl came to his ears, still running their terrified way back to Minas Ithil. A slow and wicked smile crept onto the Chief's features. "Relaxing music in the background, check."

* * *

_So, not sure if I like how this chapter came out, but hopefully you guys did! I do plan on explaining (eventually) why Gakh is terrified of jelly, in case you were wondering. _


	3. All for 'Science'

_It's here! I'm sorry about the delay in posting, but between a nasty writer's block, work, scholarship deadlines, and that monster procrastination, it's been hard getting the time to write. (Since summer for me does not equal a ton of extra time to lie around and derp) Enjoy! _

* * *

It was just another one of your average Ringwraith's day in Minas Morgul; the orc captains were shouting, whips were cracking, prisoners were screaming, and the fell beasts were growling, all the usual hub-bub of noises commonly associated with an evil fortress. Khamûl was striding rapidly through the luminous hallways of the Dead City, stressed with his job and attempting to fend off a migraine, though it was not yet lunchtime. (Or munch-and-crunch-time, as they say in Mordor)

So, since the Chief had banned coffee to the dismay of his fellow wraiths, the lieutenant was headed to the dungeons by way of a quick pick-me-up. Nothing could cheer Khamûl up more after a long day of work than simply standing in a cell and reflecting on all the torture and pain its inhabitants had endured. Reaching an empty chamber, he entered, inhaling deeply in contentment as the heavy, cloying scent of decaying flesh and clotting blood came to his nostrils.

Suddenly, a less-than-soothing voice hollered nearby. "Kha-mûl! Where are you?"

"That's _sir_ to you, scoundrel!" His commanding officer roared back, solving the question as to his whereabouts.

"Hmm, day been that bad already?" Udu commented, unfazed by the other's temper as he sauntered into the cell. Khamûl was never picky about how his companions addressed him except when frazzled or in front of the Chief. Some semblance of ranking must be kept, after all.

"Yes, it has," Khamûl sighed as he turned to face his fellow wraith. "So, I came here to cool off and rejuvenate. Why, just think of all the pain and misery the people in here have gone through, countless lives blighted, the bright flame of youth extinguished in a blink, dreams turned to dust, hopes (and appendages) crushed…." He soliloquized, wiping away a retrospective tear. "It's beautiful, that's what, and more restful then overseeing an execution."

"Agreed," Udu responded, secretly wondering if Khamûl needed more than a break as he absently scratched at the three-day scruff on his chin. "Anyways, I was sent to inform you that the Boss wants a new torture device by the next staff meeting, something particularly horrid."

"Of course he does," Khamûl huffed as his partially attained peace vanished. "I love my job, but what's wrong with the old tortures? What do I look like, a death idea factory?"

"Weell-"

"And the state of our torture department, it's absolutely shameful!" Khamûl continued, determined to enjoy his rant fully and properly as befitting one of the Nazgûl. "I do my best, but the workers grow lazier every century. Why, look at all these prisoner belongings those bumbling, incompetent orcs have left here!" He ejaculated, gesturing at several bottles and containers lying on the stone bench.

"And what's this writing on the walls?" Udu asked, thinking it wise to indulge the upset Nazgûl as he moved closer to examine the scribbles.

"Ah, ravings from our mentally un-hinged 'guests'," The other said dismissively. "Pay them no mind; it's just nonsense."

"Well, this looks important, like a code or something." Udu insisted as Khamûl at last turned to scrutinize the writings.

"By the Master, you've got something here: _E=mc2_. What does that mean?"

"Maybe it's a recipe of some sort." Udu suggested, stifling a yawn as he thought longingly of the forsaken meal back in his room.

"A recipe.…it must be for a torture device!? That prisoner was a smart one! Oh, Witchy will get his new torture for sure now." The lieutenant chuckled in fiendish delight.

"…Except for the slight problem that you don't know what the ingredients are, or if that recipe is even for persecution."

"What else would be worth writing down here, hmm? And I'm going to find out those ingredients if it takes an age." Khamûl responded determinedly, swooping up the forgotten bottles and vials as he stalked out of the cell, Udu at his heels. "E=mc2…. Send out a message to the rest of the Nazgûl that I want them to bring to me anything they can think of that starts with an 'E', 'M', or 'C'. Make it snappy too!"

"Okay." Udu sighed, already imaging the plethora of items soon to overrun the Torture R&D Department.

"What was that?"

"I mean, yes, sir!"

* * *

"Eggs? Where in Mordor did you acquire such revolting produce?" Khamûl asked in disgust as he gingerly deposited the offending article into a large cauldron.

"You said anything with an 'E'." Gakh pouted. "What do you want me to bring, elves? I think eggs are a great way of torture."

"There's a reason it's me, not you, in charge of interrogation." Khamûl muttered as he threw some mud and cold chicken liver, provided by Kraak, into the mixture.

"Don't you think you're taking this a little too seriously? There're a thousand possible combinations, and the fellow who wrote this recipe is currently airing his internals externally." Rut ventured, earning a glare in return for his reasoning efforts as the thick grey gunk was ladled onto a metal plate.

"Very well, Rut, you may try it first, since it obviously won't do anything to _your_ internals." The lieutenant snorted, shoving the goop towards the unfortunate wraith with a smirk.

"Uh, we don't have internals, right?" Zag quietly inquired of Kraak to the side.

"It's called intimidation; apparently we're really good at it."

Rut whimpered in protest at his officer's demand, but orders were orders, and soon a generous portion of the concoction found its way down the unhappy Nazgul's gullet.

"Well?" Khamûl asked eagerly as Rut coughed and choked while Gakh wondered if any of the present party knew how to administer CPR.

"It's…actually pretty good." Rut finally wheezed in surprise, both at the taste and the continued existence of his 'internals'. "You should make it more often."

"Blast!"

"Who knew you had a cooking streak, Khamûl?" Udu snickered in mock admiration.

"Can I try some?" Kraak asked hopefully.

"Get out, all of you, and leave me in peace!" Khamûl growled in disappointed pride as the wraiths obligingly filed out the door.

"Can we take the egg-liver salad with us?"

* * *

A few days and several earthworms, dried ears, eels, mice, metal maces, mustard, crossbows, crushed cheekbone crackers, and camel meat later found a very frustrated lieutenant with still no solution to his mysterious torture-recipe problem. He'd experimented with the powders and substances in the bottles left behind in the cell, but they too had proved fruitless and unsatisfactory.

"This is hopeless." Khamûl at last admitted, (just to himself, of course) as he sat despondently in his makeshift 'laboratory', idly fiddling with a piece of silver metal from the container marked 'Sodium' as a rat scuttled across the floor.

"I guess I'll have to think up something else for the meeting." He said gloomily as he tossed the metal to the rodent, who proceeded to pick up the shiny thing and nibble at it with alacrity. Several minutes passed in silence when a mini explosion was suddenly heard, followed by small squeak, the smell of burnt fur, and a curse from Khamûl.

A surprised and astonished silence ensued before being broken by a villainous laugh.

"I have an idea!"

* * *

"You called for us, Boss, what do you need?" Ski asked as he and Krith stood uneasily in front their Captain.

"If it's about the fell beast that ate half a squadron of orcs, I can confidently say that it was _not_ my fault." Krith interposed as Ski elbowed him in exasperation.

"No, this is not about that incident, though it does have to do with the orcs," The Chief said as he rolled his eyes at their antics. "I have a problem, and I want you two to fix it."

"Us?" The wraiths chorused in uneasy dread.

"Yes, you. During the past couple of days, orcs all over Minas Morgul have mysteriously and inexplicably exploding without reason."

"Come again? Exploding? As in 'boom-boom'?" Ski questioned incredulously. "And why do we have to fix your problems?"

"As in, learn some respect or it'll be you next." The Chief threatened, fed up with his daily dose times nine of insubordination.

"Yes, sir."

"You two are (as much as I hate to admit it) my best investigators, detectives if you will, and I want you to find and locate the cause behind these detonations, as well as the culprit responsible. The Master has big plans for Minas Morgul's armies, and I've already lost nearly a third of my soldiers."

"So, you essentially just want us to snoop and skulk around? Captain, it'd be our pleasure." Krith replied in delight as the duo shared a grin at the enjoyable work before them.

"Ski and Krith are on the case, Boss!"

"Good, now go out there and get working before I lose the other two-thirds of my army."

* * *

"Well, that was exciting." Ski commented as they stepped around the mess on the floor that had once been an orc. "Always observe the problem first before you look for a solution."

"But what could have caused this sudden epidemic?" Krith ruminated as he examined a ruptured spleen. "Why are some orcs blowing up and others not? There must be a differentiating factor… You there!" He called to a nearby goblin sentry. "How long was this fellow on duty before he blew?"

"Jus' ten minutes 'er so." The soldier rasped, slinking away as if close proximity to his deceased companion would incur the same death. "He'd come from eatin' before that."

"Eating…" Ski muttered reflectively. "Did all the others explode shortly after a meal?"

The goblin blinked as if the connection between the internal bombings and food consumption had never occurred to his primitive mind. (which it hadn't) "Yes, sir."

"There's our clue, Krith!" Ski trumpeted as the goblin hastily shambled away. "To the kitchens!"

"So, what do orcs eat?" Krith asked a few minutes later as they walked into the Mordor equivalent of a mess hall.

"I don't want to know." Ski stated decisively as they gazed out over the hordes of orcs shoving food down their throats faster than a hungry Warg. "Yet the explosions have to be linked somehow to what they're eating."

"Hey, notice the silver stuff?" Krith inquired, pointing at a nearby orc whose meal was sprinkled with some shiny substance. "Only some of the bowls of food have that metal thingy, the others don't."

"Huh, I think we've found the problem, quick work there, Krith."

"Elementary, my dear Ski. Let's follow this fellow here and see if he goes ka-boom."

"And then we'll go ask the cook which unfortunate person has been putting this stuff on the food and wrecking the Chief's army."

* * *

"You called for me, my Captain?" Khamûl inquired questioningly as he made a respectful bow, mainly because the Chief seemed in any mood but pleasant and it was best not to push the snark too far.

"Are you responsible for my armies of orcs exploding?" The Witch King demanded, cutting straight to the chase, as his voice grew dangerous and threatening.

"That's what this is about?" Khamûl responded in surprise as he straightened up with a slight look of relief. "Why, I was just following your orders to find a new torture device for the meeting tomorrow, the orcs were good test subjects, after all, they're dumb enough not to realize what's going on."

"I asked you to find another method of persecution, not destroy all my soldiers needed for war." The Boss sighed in irritation.

"Then I suppose that means it worked, right? That metal does beautiful things to one's stomach and makes quite the splendid show." Khamûl smiled menacingly. "I'm sure if you won't accept my brilliant idea, I can find more _suitable_ people to experiment on." He added sweetly with meaningful look at his Captain, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Curse Khamûl, he knew how to get under the Boss's purely figurative skin.

"Very well, Khamûl, you need not have a new design at every meeting from now." He relented, trying not to visualize what may be lying in wait for him in his room this very moment.

"Thank you, sir." His lieutenant bowed deeply, a satisfied smirk on his face as he turned to leave.

"So where is the rest of this magic-exploding metal?" The Chief asked somewhat nervously.

Khamûl faced his superior again with a blatant grin of smugness and triumph. "Don't worry, Boss, it's in a safe place."

Five minutes later, eight successive pops were heard at various places in Minas Morgul, followed by a collective yell of Ringwraith-rage that rang throughout the Dead City from tower to dungeon.

"Kha-mûl!"

* * *

_So this chapter was a little all over the place, but I made it a little longer to compensate. Anywho, expect an update only every other week or so, but I do have some more solid(ish) plans for the upcoming chapters. Thank you for all the kind reviews, follows, and favorites, they help me write faster. :) Cheers!_


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